Her hold around my neck tightens along with her pussy, and a second later her back is pinned to the wall, following through on what I threatened her with. Her back presses into the cool surface, but Raina is aflame, every inch of her radiating heat as she surrounds me like a living flame. I can’t help the guttural growl that escapes from my throat at the sensation of her slick heat clamping down around me.
My mouth finds her collarbone, and I bite down, not hard, but enough to leave goosebumps tracing up and down her arms. She shivers, her hands gripping my shoulders like she’s drowning and I’m the only thing that floats.
Raina’s body tenses under my hold, her heart racing in sync with my own. Every fiber of me ignites with urgency as I crush my mouth to hers, feeling her desire flood my cock, threatening to drown out my rational thoughts.
“Damn, I’ve needed this,” I mutter against her skin, breathing in her scent—sweet and intoxicating. I know her better than anyone, and yet, the way she moves beneath my hands still stuns me. Every kiss makes me hungry for more.
I thrust into her, keeping my movements deliberate, savoring the sensation of her tightening around me. She whimpers, the sounds spilling like a soft melody that echoes against the walls of the room, mixing with the remnants of my earlier drumming. I want nothing more than to drown out the memories of what ledus here—every painful reminder of that night—and simply enjoy the bliss we’re forging anew.
Her nails scrape across my shoulders, and I groan, thrusting deeper, settling her into the wall as if I were anchoring her to a spot only I can claim. “God, you’re so fucking perfect.”
Every thrust feels like proof she’s here—breathing, warm, alive. Every sound she makes drowns out the nightmare version that plays in my head.
“Keaton,” she breathes, but it sounds like a prayer wrapped in a plea. That sound, that slight quiver in her voice wrenches my gut with desire. God knows I’d do anything to keep hearing it, to give her everything she wants.
I drag my lips along her collarbone, kissing up to the soft curve of her jaw, then nibbling on her ear, my fingers digging into her thighs. My cock swells inside her, every inch of her squeezing around me as she struggles to meet the rhythm I’m trying to set.
“This is your song, remember?” I murmur, my mouth hot against her skin. I might not be tapping out the song against her skin, or on my kit, but I’m still playing the melody of our love. This time it’s the slap of our skin, the sharpness of our breathing, the pounding of our hearts, and the sweetest sounds she makes.
She starts to shake, hips stuttering, pussy pulsing, and it has me right on the edge. I press my mouth to her ear and murmur, “You got it. Just let go.”
She does, body going rigid, a choked cry slipping from her lips. She digs her nails into my shoulders, riding out the aftershocks as she collapses against me.
I want to last longer, but with her coming apart in my arms, I’m finished in seconds. I bury my face in her neck and shudder, the world going bright and then silent.
She laughs, exhausted and breathless. “How have we never done this at your kit before?”
I chuckle, running my fingers through her hair. “I’m not sure, but I think we should do this again.”
She’s quiet for a while, tracing circles on my chest with her fingertip as we simply enjoy this post coital bliss. “You’re always going to be my anchor, aren’t you?”
I nod, not trusting myself to say anything better.
She wraps her arms around me tighter. “Don’t let go.”
“Never,” I say, and mean it.
Her breath evens out against my skin, and for the first time in months, the silence doesn’t scare me.
Maybe this is what healing sounds like… it’s not music, not words. Just us, still holding on.
Every window in this house offers a spectacular view, which makes me feel so damn lucky. It cost a pretty penny, but it’s everything I imagined for Survival Records. I can’t wait for the day we invite other artists here to record.
I turn my attention from the view to the open laptop on my desk. The soft glow of the screen illuminates my determined expression. Silence stretches around me, amplifying my racing heartbeat as I await the familiar face of Dr. Shapiro. Today marks three months since my journey began with her. There’s a weight of expectation hanging in the air, a delicate balance between pride and an ever-looming uncertainty about what I can truly reclaim.
We’re making all kinds of plans based on me being able to sing, but I’m not sure if I’ll be ready in time. It takes a lot of endurance to make it through an entire show.
I fidget with the microphone I have attached to the laptop. The high quality of it is the only reason the doc said I could do remote sessions, it lets her hear my voice as if I’m actually there.
A soft chime breaks my focus, and I look up to find Dr. Shapiro’s face appearing on the screen, her smile warm and inviting. “Good morning, Raina. It’s great to see you,” she says, her voice a reassuring melody that settles into the spaces of my anxiety.
I return her smile, a flicker of comfort igniting deep within. “It’s good to see you, too.”
“Today, I’d like to see how you’ve progressed with your exercises,” she states, the shift in tone signaling the start of our session. My fingers tremble as I glance at the list of drills from my last appointment.
I nod, swallowing hard as I settle into my seat, a tightness gripping my throat. It feels like my hopes and dreams are reliant on how this session goes.
“Let’s start with sustained hums,” Dr. Shapiro suggests, her eyes observing me intently, as if she can peel back the layers of my doubts with her gaze. Taking a deep breath, I nod again, drawing the air into my lungs. Pressure builds in my chest, yet I take solace in the knowledge that I’ve survived worse moments.
